


Motes

by pibroch (littleblackdog)



Series: Snare [3]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Humour, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-05
Updated: 2011-09-02
Packaged: 2017-10-24 01:52:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/257558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleblackdog/pseuds/pibroch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Those moments in the Snare universe that focus on the relationship between Anders and Bethany.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Summer & Sunlight

**Author's Note:**

> Set directly after Rook. Anders/Bethany, with perhaps a hint of Justice/Bethany?

It was worrisome, he'd realise later, that he didn't notice the clinic door open until his unexpected guest was standing by his elbow, politely clearing her throat in the quiet. Vigilance wasn't just for proper Wardens, and Anders had been hunted long and often enough to have a bit of an aversion to being snuck up on.

"Maferath's _balls_ ," he hissed, quill scratching across the paper he'd been pouring over, destroying a half-page of arguments regarding the use of the Harrowing. Craning around in his chair, Anders regarded his young (and lovely, Maker, so lovely) visitor, keeping his expression as neutral as possible considering the fright she'd given him (and the inappropriate thoughts she gave him on a near daily basis). Stripped down to his shirtsleeves, his coat discarded before he'd sat down to write, Anders felt strangely exposed. "What— Bethany? Is everything all right?"

"Oh, I'm sorry—" She was a flurry of movement, leaning over him with shapely arms reaching and ample breasts nearly spilling out of her soft white shirt, and Anders swallowed back a groan at the scent that filled his nostrils. Sweet soap with a hint of lemons, fresh air and sunlight, and some other warm, womanly fragrance that he was damnably sure wasn't bought from a shop, but was simply _her_. He felt the Fade tug, the stir of Justice in the back of his mind, as Bethany called up a small blast of ice to freeze the ink he hadn't even realised he'd spilled, righting the bottle with her elegant fingers.

Gathering up his mess of papers while he sat staring like a slack-jawed idiot, Bethany studied the ruined page, biting her bottom lip. Her plush, pink bottom lip—

 _Stop it._

"I'll recopy it," she said suddenly, setting all the papers at the corner of his table, safely away from the frozen trickle of ink. He'd have to pry that off the wood in a moment. "First thing tomorrow, or right now if you want. I'm so sorry."

In this, as in everything she did, she was just so bloody earnest and honest. It made parts of him sit up and take notice— parts that he never imagined would notice anything of the sort. It was difficult enough trying to keep his weak, human side in check, but now his other half was becoming strangely enamoured as well. It was… challenging.

"It's nothing." He smiled, realising too late that smiling would simply encourage her to return the expression, with those big, chocolate eyes twinkling. _Bugger_. "No harm done. You saved the rest from the rubbish bin, anyway, so we'll call it even." Tearing his gaze away from her face, Anders focused on easing just enough force magic under the frozen ink to lift it, without shattering the ice or staining his fingers. It was a delicate procedure, and it gave him an excuse to look anywhere but at her, without seeming rude about it. For a moment or two, at least— plenty of time to collect himself.

"Is everything all right?" he repeated, balling up the floating black ice in a spare rag and tossing it aside to melt. "You're here late."

Swishing her skirts absently— no robes for Miss Bethany Amell, ordinary Hightown lady, or any staff either— Bethany rested one hip against the edge of the table, and the softening of her expression to something decidedly affectionate set bells of warning ringing between his ears. "We were having a discussion today, before my brother nosed in. You promised we'd finish it."

That earlier discussion had nearly frayed his self-control to the breaking point, faced with Bethany's determined arguments and soft, willing body leaning close, pressing against him until his hands came up, entirely instinctively, to draw her closer still—

"I did say that," he agreed, a tad hoarsely. Earnest, honest, and tenacious… the affection he held for this remarkable woman scorched him down to his soul, making him ache with the burn of it. "I also said I don't want to hurt you. I can't be the man you deserve, Bethany."

Of all the things he expected to follow his admittedly half-hearted but well-meant excuse, a kick to the shin wasn't on the list.

"Ow, _bugger_ —" She didn't kick hard, but it was enough to smart, and make Anders flinch back. Rather than look at all apologetic, Bethany folded her arms under her breasts, frowning.

"Is it at all possible, even once in my entire life, to let _me_ decide what's best for me? Even once? Maker, have you been taking _coddle Bethany_ lessons from Callum?"

 _Coddle, cuddle, curling up with her, warm and soft and safe—_

 _Stop it. She would never be safe with you, with us—_

Blinking back the rush of thoughts, Anders rubbed his fingers against his forehead, feeling the stirring of a significant ache beginning between his brows. "That's not it at all. You… Bethany, you know what I am. You're the only one in this blighted city who does. Do you understand how dangerous that is?"

"You're a man who tried to help a friend." Her hand on his shoulder made him flinch even more than her shoe bruising his shin had, but Bethany held on, her fingers sliding up just enough to brush the skin of his neck. It was utterly torturous, sending sparks skittering down his nerves. "A good man, who showed me that my magic is truly not a curse, but a blessing. A caring, passionate man who all but kills himself to give all he has and more to others, asking nothing in return." She paused, glancing away into the dark clinic, and Anders felt his cheeks heat, humbled by her belief in him. "You… You're the man I've grown to love, Anders, for good or ill."

Oh by Andraste's flaming pyre, she said it. Even in his most painful, blissful dreams of quiet cottages, beautiful dark-haired babes, and sweet, lazy mornings of lovemaking, he'd never dared to say _that_.

Maker strike him dead, he couldn't stop himself from moving.

"Bethany—" When he stood, chair toppling over carelessly behind him, Bethany gasped. He was kissing her before his mind caught up, tangling his hand in her long, black hair, just as silky as he'd imagined. Her lips were so damned soft, so plush and welcoming as they opened for him, and she tasted like _summer_.

He could drown in her, content to die wrapped in nothing but her scent and her taste, her touch overwhelming his senses to the point of madness.

Her fingers squeezed the back of his neck, clinging as he bent to her. It was no great strain to lift her petite body that short distance to sit on the table, but then her legs wrapped around his hips, trapping him close— _too close_ — and everything was happening too fast.

"Stop," he gasped, breaking away from her eager mouth with great strength of will. His skin felt too tight, and the idea that Justice was right there, not sinking deep into his consciousness as he ought to, made this entire mistake all the harder to correct.

 _Aren't you meant to keep me honest, you useless fucking prat?_

"This will be a disaster." The complaint didn't sound nearly firm enough, which was almost funny, considering how _firm_ he was quickly becoming with such a perfect, nubile young woman pressed tight against him.

"I want you," Bethany said breathily, fluttering kisses against his jaw, as if _want_ was enough to make this less of a tragedy-in-waiting. "I love you, Anders."

He whined wordlessly, dropping his head until his face was cradled in the crook of her neck, rubbing his nose against the thrumming pulse he found there. "Sweetheart, you must stop saying that when I'm trying to be sensible. Please."

Her lips brushed the shell of his ear, and he could feel all good intentions crumbling out of his grasp, like stone turned to sand. "I will never stop saying it," she whispered. "Never. I love you."

 _Never_.

He would test that promise, he was utterly certain, and the thought broke his heart. But for now, for this moment, Anders allowed the warmth of her words to curl in his chest like the most soothing healing magic imaginable, filling him up. He couldn't… he couldn't go on without this. Not anymore.

"Forgive me," he said softly, wrapping both arms around her back and drawing her impossibly closer, pillowing his head over her heart. "I love you, so very much. Maker, how I love you."

He had nothing left, not an ounce of resistance. When her fingers lifted his chin, pulling him gently into another sweet, tender kiss, he went willingly.

Damned, but willingly.


	2. Summer & Sunlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _This is set a few months after Summer & Sunlight._

_This is set a few months after Summer & Sunlight._

* * *

"Anders, _shush_!" The chastisement might have been more convincing if Bethany had been able to control her giggles, but sun was streaming in the high windows of her bedroom, bathing the rumpled bed in delicious warmth, and Anders' fingers were tickling mercilessly across her ribs. That wouldn't have been a problem (even considering his fascination with seeking the particularly ticklish spots that would make her squeal), if he wasn't so bloody _noisy_ about the whole thing.

"Your mother won't be home for hours," he murmured against the soft flesh of her belly, mouth curling into an utterly roguish smile as he peered up at her over the curves of her naked body. "Oh, doesn't that sound just _wicked._ Your mother—" He licked a broad stripe over her navel, then sent a gust of frigid air ghosting over the damp patch he'd left behind. Bethany made a quiet, breathy sound as the sensation rippled down between her legs, squeezing her thighs against his sides. "Won't be home for _hours_. Whatever shall we do in the meantime?"

" _Please_ stop talking about my mother." Reaching down, Bethany carded her fingers through the mussed lengths of Anders' hair, gently working a few tangles free as she scratched his scalp. There were strands of gold and pale copper shimmering in the afternoon sunlight, loose hair framing his sweetly flushed face like burnished mane— Bethany felt her own blush rise just thinking something so foolishly romantic, like something out of those florid serials that Varric wrote and she probably wasn't supposed to know about. Anders pushed up against the touch of her hands, eyes fluttering closed blissfully as a heartfelt but _too loud_ groan warbled out of his throat.

"You look just like Lady." One bright, caramel-coloured eye cracked open, complete with a dubiously raised brow, and Bethany giggled again, dragging her nails gently down to his nape.

"I'll take that as a compliment, love." He arched his neck back even as his hands slid upward, thumbs teasing under her breasts. "Lady Whiskers is a beautiful and noble creature. I'd like to hope I'm a _bit_ more attractive, but if comparisons to the cat are as good as I'm going to get..."

"Come here, you." She tugged his hair, and he dropped his palms to the mattress on either side of her, dragging himself up until his face was looming just over hers, framed in a curtain of soft, reddish gold. He was so tall, broad in the shoulders in a way she'd never fully appreciated until she'd seen those same shoulders naked, with faint, sparse freckles dusting over his firm, wiry muscles (he was still too skinny, but a few more custard tarts would sort that out). He made her feel _tiny_ in comparison, but not in a frightening way; it was a comfort of sorts, being wrapped up in the length and breadth of his wholly masculine body.

"Purr, purr," he said softly, still smiling as he brushed his nose up her cheek. The feel of his chest rubbing over her nipples, all warm skin and springy hair, made her bite her lip against the moan that threatened. "Hey, now." His hand cupped her jaw, his thumb pressing under her mouth until her teeth released their hold. "None of that when we've the house to ourselves for once. Let me hear you."

It was a struggle not to turn her face away, not to try and hide from the blatant tenderness in his gaze when he wanted her to do _that_ , but she managed. The soft kiss of his lips against the corner of her mouth did help matters somewhat. She turned towards him instead, seeking those lips and that hot tongue, and the taste of black tea, honey, and cucumber that still lingered in his mouth from their lazy luncheon abed. She drank him in, her hands still tangled in his hair as their kisses grew deeper, more insistent. His hand wandered down to her breasts again, kneading gently, and she could feel the hot, half-hard length of his cock against her thigh, still a bit slick from their earlier lovemaking.

Everything was warm, a hundred times warmer than the sunbeams had made her, but she still shivered as she felt his magic reach out to her, calling up that swirling well of power in her core that sent her skin tingling for _more_ —

He let her moan quietly, the noises muffled and swallowed into his own mouth, but some vestige of Bethany's sensible mind knew that he wouldn't leave it there. His fingers rolled her nipple, plucking and lightly pinching until the invisible string of pleasure that ran from her chest down between her legs began to thrum madly. He was humming a cacophony against her lips, stealing kiss after kiss until he had her thoughts swimming and her hips rocking up against the planes of his stomach. He was so _good_ at this, and it wasn't just because before Anders there'd been naught but her own hand for company, but because he loved her body as much as he loved _her_ , and he was not shy about smothering her with every ounce of that adoration.

Sometimes he tickled her breathless while they dozed in the sunshine, or mapped the sensitive skin behind her knees and up the insides of her arms with his tongue and lips. Sometimes he brushed her hair away from her neck just to breathe in the scent of her skin, and sometimes he spent an age tasting the wet, eager depths of her sex until he had her mewling like a kitten and thrashing against the sheets in pleas for mercy. Sometimes he let his magic play over her like a thousand nimble fingers, blazing through her nerves; sometimes they moved together like they'd never been separate, sliding slick and sweaty, with no words except broken prayers and whispers of endearments, half-insensible.

Sometimes he curled up against her back and held her close while they slept, and Bethany could almost swear there was nothing else in the whole of the world but Anders' hand splayed over her stomach, and his breath against her nape.

 _This_ time, he pulled his mouth away from hers just as he let a small shock of lightning spark against the hard peak of her breast, with no warning at all, and Bethany _wailed_ without thinking, her nails digging into Anders' scalp as she hung on through the quakes of near-orgasm.

"Bugger," she gasped after a moment, blinking up at his entirely too smug face. "Oh, you dirty _cheat_."

"But sweetheart, you sound so lovely." He ducked to nuzzle her neck, and another tiny jolt of lightning, accompanied by a nip of teeth against her pulse was enough to make her cry out again, not quite as unrestrained as a moment before, but louder than she usually allowed. She simply... she felt _silly_ when she made a fuss like that, though the squirmy discomfort was fading with time and ample practice. That thought made her smile like a fool, even through the slight, lingering embarrassment— Anders was a kind, darling man, but now that his spirit of Justice had acquiesced to their relationship, he was also a man who enjoyed sex a great deal.

Luckily enough, Bethany had discovered that she enjoyed it too. Rather a lot.

"I want to ride you," she whispered heatedly, right against the shell of his ear, and she was awfully pleased when he shuddered against her with a long, strangled-sounding groan. She might baulk at shrieking like a wet cat when her mother could come home at any moment, but Bethany Hawke did not shy away from saying exactly what she wanted. So much of her life had been out of her control, but not this. Not here, in their bed.

* * *

"—because you're not good at playing nice with the other mercenaries." Hawke paused to offer Fenris a hand up in climbing up from the basement of the estate, though of course it was ignored. They were arguing, apparently, though Hawke still for the life of him couldn't fathom _why_.

Clearing the doors and brushing dust from his leggings, Fenris frowned darkly. "I get along perfectly well with the others who aren't idiots. Perhaps Varric should consider hiring a higher calibre of sellsword."

"Listen." Catching Fenris around the waist was a risky manoeuvre, but the arm was allowed, and Hawke couldn't help but grin as he drew his lover closer. "Could we discuss this later? No business at my mother's, I though we agreed."

"You are the one pressing the issue," Fenris retorted, not _quite_ snappishly, but still leaned in for a brief, soft kiss when Hawke ducked towards his mouth.

* * *

" _Oh!_ " Fighting the urge to bite her lip, Bethany rolled her hips, letting out another hiccupping cry as Anders surged under her, his long fingers dancing against her pearl as she ground down onto his cock. "Oh Maker, Anders—"

"Yes, _yes_ love—" There was sweat on his skin, just a sheen over his chest and forehead, glistening above his upper lip, and his hair was fanned out over the pillow like a corona. Bethany would never, ever grow tired of seeing him like this, with nothing but joy twisted up in his expression, and the great, weighty mantle of duty and revolution set aside for just a little while. Dredging up a bit of concentration, she brought a few crystals of frost to the tips of her fingers and slid them over the tight discs of his nipples, bracing herself for the sharp bucking that inevitably followed, his grip digging into her thigh. " _Fuck_ , Maker—"

He always filled her to what felt like near bursting, stretching her inside until she could feel him _everywhere_ , tingling from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes. This time was no different, and the pressure of him, the heat and the aching fullness made her rock harder, faster, bracing her hands on his chest without teasing, then whimpering desperately when he sat up instead, letting her cling to his shoulder as he bent awkwardly and took her nipple into his mouth.

This couldn't be comfortable for his back, for his neck, but Bethany couldn't worry just then— not with her pearl rubbing feverishly against the firmness of his belly with every move of her hips, and his cock sliding, and his teeth holding her nipple as his tongue flickered and curled around it. Everything was connected— Father had taught her that, when she first felt the stirring of the Fade outside of a dream— but it seemed a much more vital lesson now, when every bit of her felt leashed to her sex by strands of pleasure. When every suck against her breast made her quiver, rippling around Anders' length, and even the slide of his palms around her back left a trail of heat and yearning in their wake.

This was probably not what Father had meant when he told her to always be aware of her body and the power forever simmering inside her, but Andraste's grace, she could _not_ think about her father right now.

She could think about Anders grunting softly against her chest as with every snap of her hips, and the molten coil that was tightening and sparking in her core. She could think about his hair against her face, thick and soft and smelling of her own herbal soap, and the strong bands of his arms around her, hugging her close.

Then the coil began to unravel, _swiftly_ , and Bethany could think of nothing else but the sweet sensation flooding through her muscles, arching her back and letting it wash over her.

* * *

"What in the wretched Void is _that_?" Hawke froze in the doorway to the great room, one hand held out to keep Fenris from walking any farther, while the other hand pointed accusingly at the shaggy ball of fur curled up under Darby's chin. The estate was oddly quiet, and Hawke was beginning to think that they'd arrived earlier than he'd planned. No one appeared to be about, not even the pair of servants he employed to help keep the estate in order, and now his mabari wasn't even jumping up to greet him.

Darby did open his dark, intelligent eyes, and his stubby tail did start to wiggle quickly, but he made utterly no move to stand from his lounge beside the smouldering fireplace. Curled up like a hulking boulder, the hound had some sort of… _thing_ coiled between his front paws, a small mass of long, mottled fur in shades of brown, grey, and black.

Hawke might have assumed it was some sort of toy Bethany had decided to spoil his dog with, or less pleasantly, some sort of "present" Darby had decided to bring home that no one had yet taken from him. He _might_ have thought that, but then the thing moved. Then it _meowed_.

The cat lifted its head to regard its guests blandly, without a hint of nervousness in its wide, vividly golden eyes. That was not the expression a cat was meant to wear when finding itself so close to mabari jaws.

"It appears to be a cat," Fenris said, his tone just as bland and dry as the cat's expression, and pushed Hawke's arm out of his way to move farther into the room. "I don't believe anyone's home."

"Darby—" Very slowly, more than slightly disturbed by the way the cat's unblinking eyes were peering at him, Hawke moved a little closer. "Does Mother know you have a cat, boy? Where did you get that thing?" The dog whined softly in response, lolling his massive head over against the polished floor. The cat finally broke its eerie stare, butting its nose into Darby's jowls with an audible purr.

This was _bizarre_.

Then there was a noise from upstairs, and Hawke forgot all about the cat.

He looked to Fenris at the exact moment Fenris' attention snapped to him.

"That was a woman's scream," he said sharply, but his feet were already moving, already carrying him up the stairs as his heart hammered and his vision sharpened. There was something _wrong_.

He could hear Fenris rushing up the stairs behind him, but Hawke was already shoving the door to Bethany's room open with a heave of his shoulder, dagger in hand without conscious thought, and then—

 _Oh Maker, **no** —_

Bethany screamed again, much shriller this time as her hands came around to cover her breasts and her… her _everything else_ , and Hawke's mind was suddenly flying off in a hundred different directions. He covered his own eyes, backing out of the room with all haste and pushing Fenris along with him, then thought better of that and actually took hold of his lover as he yanked the door closed with a resounding thud.

Fenris was lit up like a firefly, his face a mask of blatant outrage, and if Hawke cared at all for Anders' safety (at this point, that was debatable), they all just needed to calm down.

"Fenris," he said shakily, then again more firmly when Fenris' glare stayed fixed on a point behind Hawke's shoulder. "Fenris, look at me. Love, please."

Eyes as hard as chips of jade snapped to his face, and Hawke flinched just a tiny bit. He had to remain calm, even if he wanted to burst into the room again and drag that lecherous apostate out by the scrotum. Or possibly start screaming and never, ever stop.

 _Those were Bethany's bare breasts, and there were **bite marks** on them._

Oh Maker, he might need new eyes. That image was forever burnt into these ones.

* * *

"Shit," Anders hissed, scrambling off the bed and tossing a wrinkled nightdress in Bethany's direction before yanking on his own trousers. "This is… shit, shit, _shit_."

Bethany couldn't agree more, pulling the linen shift over her head so quickly it very nearly ripped. Her hands were shaking, and her heart was hammering in her throat.

She needed to think about this rationally before she suffocated herself with a pillow.

"It's all right," she said suddenly, surprising herself probably even more than she surprised Anders, who turned to look at her with an utterly incredulous expression. Still kneeling on the rumpled bed, Bethany took a deep breath and smoothed the nightdress over her thighs. "No, it is. This is… not the way I wanted to tell him, but he was going to find out about you living here sooner or later. We're all grown people, Callum is not my father, and if he doesn't like it, he can go soak his head."

Anders didn't move for a moment, almost comically frozen in place with his trousers still hanging open and his hair standing up at all angles like a bird had tried to nest in it. Then he exhaled, long and shuddering, and dropped to sit heavily on the edge of the bed.

"You're right." Breathing deeply again, he turned to her with a faint, crooked smile and held out one arm. Not even sparing a glance at the door (now with the wood around the latch splintered), Bethany scooted closer and tucked her shoulder against him, laying her cheek in the crook of his neck. "Oh Maker, I used to be an old hand at handling interruptions like that— no locks on the doors in the Circle. You're all right, love?"

"I'm embarrassed," she murmured, the heat of her face against his skin almost guaranteeing she was blushing as darkly as she felt. "And I'm so cross with Callum I could spit. Who just bursts in like that?"

"Concerned brothers, I assume." She could hear Anders' heart as its pounding slowed to a normal rhythm, and somewhere outside the broken door, she could hear muffled voices. "Do you want me to go try to shoo them away?"

It was a sweet notion, chivalrous and thoughtful, but Bethany huffed out a small laugh regardless, curling her arm around Anders' stomach. He hadn't yet… _finished_ , when Callum decided to make such a prat of himself, but the tent in his trousers was barely noticeable anymore, wilted and softening. Another bolt of annoyance shot through her at the thought that Callum had managed to ruin such a perfectly lovely afternoon, and she swallowed back the urge to stomp out and set the seat of his trousers on fire.

"No," she said instead. "I rather like you alive, thank you very much. If they don't leave soon, we'll go out together."

"As emasculating as this may sound," Anders replied, pressing a kiss against her hair. "I am incredibly relieved to hear you say that."

"Not emasculating, just prudent." Smiling, Bethany brushed her lips softly against his collarbone, almost wishing Callum would just storm in again so she had an excuse to hex him. "Lady Whiskers would never forgive me if they tore to you pieces."


End file.
